


Not Just Any Autumn Morning

by RhysLahey



Series: Scisaac short fics [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Feels, Hurt Isaac, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Isaac Lahey Feels, Isaac-centric, Loneliness, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 10:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhysLahey/pseuds/RhysLahey
Summary: Isaac sat up, rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hated that day. He hated it with all his passion. But as he looked at the calendar he let out a sigh. With it, he let go of his anger, and simply and stoically accepted the fact that it was again that particular autumn morning.





	Not Just Any Autumn Morning

Isaac woke up quietly and checked at his phone. It was early in the morning, way before his alarm went off, just as he had planned. He drew the curtains and looked outside his window: he day was still grey and grim. The thick clouds that hardly let the sun through were a clear sign of rain, but it was still dry. He glanced at his wall calendar and saw that day’s date marked with a small red cross. Isaac sat up, rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hated that day. He hated it with all his passion. But as he looked at the calendar he let out a sigh. With it, he let go of his anger, and simply and stoically accepted the fact that it was again that particular autumn morning.

He got dressed as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake his father up. He put on his favourite button-up shirt (the white one with blue checks that used to belong to Cam) and a dark blue woolly jumper on top. He wished he could have ironed his shirt, but Isaac trembled at the idea of his dad finding out he was ironing and wearing one of Cam’s shirts. Once he was ready he sneaked down stairs and grabbed his keys from the bowl. From the front door he could see that his dad (as every year the night before that autumn morning) had been drinking. There were more than a handful of empty beer bottles, and a couple of bottles of stronger stuff. He silently opened the door and closed it with a muted click.

As Isaac jumped on his bike he glanced at the house with the immaculate lawn across the street, where the Whittemore’s lived. Jackson’s car was still on the drive, but the curtains of his window were drawn, so he was most probably still asleep. There had been a time when he and Isaac had been friends and played together. They had been more than neighbours. They went to each other’s birthdays. They played with Cam in their pool. But that was long ago. Jackson was now a complete dick. Even if they had been best friends for seven or eight years now he behaved as if Isaac didn’t exist. He ignored him at school, and he barely acknowledged him at lacrosse practice. Perhaps worse of all was when he deliberately ignored the sounds of broken glass and the pleas of help coming from the Lahey’s house. Isaac shook his head as he cycled down the road.

Truth be told, a part of Isaac missed Jackson, although it was the part of him that simply longed to have someone to talk to. A different part of his mind reminded him that it was not advisable to have anyone to talk, because people may end up asking questions. Too many questions. Perhaps about his bruises or his recurrent black eyes. Some of those he could pass as lacrosse hits, but not all of them. Dad kept telling him that he was better off without friends, because he was a useless waste of space and nobody would bother to talk to him. Perhaps Isaac didn’t deserve to have friends anymore. The ones he had had (like Matt or Jackson) did not want to be his friends anymore.

When he got to the main road he turned left, and immediately wished he had brought a raincoat, because slowly but steadily big fat raindrops were falling. Isaac cursed. Eventually the rain got too heavy. He was soaked to the bone and he could hardly see where he was cycling, so he sought refuge from the inclement weather. The closest thing to a dry, roofed area he could see happened to be the animal clinic. Isaac cursed. That’s where the last person he wanted to see that morning worked. When a strong gust of wind nearly knocked him down he decided to swallow his pride and get indoors.

“Just a second!” a voice he knew well called as he walked into the clinic.

A small puddle formed at his feet as the water dripped off his soaked clothes. Isaac ruffled his hair in a futile attempt to dry it and then sat on one of the chairs of the waiting room. Soon enough a teenager with dark hair and brown eyes wearing a red hoodie came to the front.

“Hello, how can I help? Oh,” he said as he saw Isaac. “Hi, Isaac, right?”

“Yeah, hi Scott.”

“I didn’t know you had a pet?” Scott asked with a welcoming smile.

“I don’t. I just came in because of the rain. Is it… I mean… if you don’t mind, but… Would you mind if I wait here a while? Please…” Isaac mumbled, still sitting down, slouching slightly and not looking at Scott in the eye.

“Yeah, of course! I don’t mind,” Scott said from behind the counter cheerfully. “Do you want a towel?”

“Huh?” Isaac looked up, not understanding the question.

“A towel to get you dry? You’re very wet.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry… I mean… It’s ok.”

“Isaac, you’ll catch your death! You’re completely soaked.”

“Please, Scott, don’t worry—“

“It’s ok, we’ve got plenty of towels,” and with that, and before Isaac could say anything else, Scott was gone.

Isaac pondered for a second if it would not be better to risk it out in the rain. He even stood up and looked out of the door, only to see rain pouring down like a water blanket. He cursed again. Scott McCall was, in many ways, very similar to Jackson Whittemore. Isaac was sure that nobody in Beacon Hills High would agree with his statement, but, to be fair, nobody in Beacon Hills High would even listen to him. Scott was painfully similar to Jackson because he did not notice Isaac at school, he barely interacted with him during lacrosse practice, and he was sure he would not recognise him if they walked pass each other in the street. In the same way that Jackson’s conscious ignoring hurt because of all what they had shared in the past, Scott’s blessed obliviousness hurt because of all the thing he wished they could share in the future.

He had liked that adorable dork that worked in the animal clinic for a while. Isaac could not remember the day he met Scott, because they had always gone to school together, but he certainly remembered that day three years before when Scott nearly collapsed during practice and Stiles rushed to go and find his inhaler. Isaac happened to be the nearest teammate around, so he sat by Scott as Stiles rushed. He put a hand on his shoulder because he had no idea of what else he could do, and Scott simply looked up and smiled as he wheezed. Ever since, he had not been able to look at Scott in the same way. Isaac was fascinated by his big brown eyes. To make things worse, whenever he saw Scott smiling he felt a warm and cosy feeling in his chest, and the only thing Isaac wished to do was to hold him and cuddle him and smother him in kisses and tell him how much he loves him and hear Scott say how much he loves him back.

Scott reappeared with a pile of towels, and Isaac stopped his day dreaming. He dropped most of them on the ground as he got the biggest one and wrapped Isaac with it.

“You should get those clothes off. They’re soaked,” Scott suggested.

“I’m fine, don’t worry… Thank you for the towels.”

“That’s the least I could do! You’re as wet as a drowned rat!”

Isaac chuckled as he wrapped tighter in the towel.

“I need to finish a couple of things inside, but you can stay here as long as you want,” he added with that smile that made Isaac melt inside, but he managed to mutter a ‘thank you’ before the shorter boy disappeared in the clinic.

Scott kept talking through the door as he shifted boxes and fed cats. It did not seem to Isaac as a great way to spend a Saturday morning, but then, on the other hand, anything was better than a Saturday morning in the Lahey house. Scott went on talking and talking, trying to keep Isaac entertained, but that was only making Isaac nervous.

He had never been with Scott alone like that, and that was probably the longest they had ever spoken. _Of all days_, Isaac thought angrily,_ it had to be today that I am trapped indoors with Scott McCall_.

After twenty minutes the worse of the storm was passed. His jumper was not dripping anymore, but it was far from being dry. His jeans were heavy and uncomfortable. But Isaac could not stay any longer. He was already late. The one thing he actually cared for, and he was going to be late.

“Hey, Scott, I really have to go,” Isaac called. He did not want to go, because any time with Scott was, well, time with Scott McCall. And he loved every second, even if he was wet and wrapped in towels while Scott was working. Any other day he would have stayed, but not that autumn morning.

“What?”

“I need to go, Scott,” Isaac said, folding carefully the towel and putting it on the seats. “Erm, well. Thank you so much. You know. For keeping me dry.”

“That’s ok. But are you sure you have to go? It’s still raining…” Scott pointed outside, where the rain had turned into a drizzle.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry...” Isaac opened the door, but before shutting it, he turned around and with his head still low, he said a final ‘thank you’.

Isaac jumped on his bike and got back on the road, cycling through all the puddles. Eventually he got to the edge of the preserve, and there he took a sharp right, cutting across the forest.

By the time he emerged on the far side of the preserve the rain had stopped, and the wind was tearing the clouds apart, revealing the sun still lazily raising up in the sky. At the end of the lane, he saw the flower shop, where he bought a large bunch of daisies. He paid the florist with a sad smile, before grabbing his bike. He pushed it through the open gates and walked into the cemetery.

Isaac walked through the puddles of the gravel track until he reached his destination. Even if his dad made him work at that graveyard, he hardly ever came to visit that particular tomb. For Isaac his job was something his dad made him do, and he did not want to get his dad involved in anyway whatsoever with this visit. This visit was his and his only. He kneeled in the muddy floor and, with a rag he had in his pocket, cleaned away the leaves and the dirt that covered the tombstone. He carefully pulled away the weeds, and threw away the remains of an old bunch of flowers. He placed the bunch of daisies by the inscription and, with a deep sigh, he pulled his phone out.

He scrolled through the messages until he got to one of the first ones he treasured in that phone. It was a message sent by Cam from Afghanistan two years ago on that day. Camden Lahey had long ago given up on sending letters and postcards back home to his baby brother, knowing full well that his father would either tear them apart the moment he opened the mail box, or else would beat Isaac up if he found him with them. The moment he opened the message a big sob crept to his throat. His eyes were already watering. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes before looking down at his phone again.

Isaac did not need to read it – he had read it often enough to know it by heart. But he still made the point of coming to the cemetery every year on the same date (on the same autumn morning) to read it aloud at the tomb where their mum was buried. Being there and reading those words were a painful torture. Being there reminded Isaac about his big brother and his mum, who were not with him any more. And he missed them so, so much. He missed them every day, but on that autumn morning he missed them even more. So much it hurt inside. Isaac gave up all pretence and cried. He sobbed, and cried, kneeling in the mud by the tombstone with both his mother’s and his brother’s names.

And despite the painful memories and the empty feeling in his chest, that one autumn morning each year when he was by the tomb was worth everything. Cam used to take him to the cemetery, and they would stand there by the tomb, side by side, not talking much, just holding hands and leaving a bunch of daisies, which were their mother’s favourites. It had always been only them two – their father usually passed out or still drunk from the night before to even bother turning up, but since he had joined the forces, Isaac had gone on his own for both of them. And then, almost two years ago, Cam died.

His dad received an official letter, but Isaac never wanted to know the details. He didn’t care how it had happened. He just knew that his brother was not going to come back any more. Without his big brother, Isaac was lost. Without his big brother, Isaac was defenceless. All the reserves his father might have had disappeared in thin air, and Isaac got the worse of it: sometimes it was a flying bottle, sometimes it was a push down the stairs. Sometimes it was only the belt. Sometimes it was a night in the freezer. Without his big brother, Isaac had to face going to the cemetery on his own.

A gust of wind sent a shiver down Isaac’s wet spine. He wiped the tears off his face and looked down at his phone. He read aloud.

_Hi Zac. I know I can’t go with you this year to visit mum, but I also know you will go for me and tell her how sorry I am that I have left you two back in California. Just remember that mum loved us with all her heart. That even during all those months she was sick she cared for us more than she cared about herself. That even if it hurts that she’s not with us anymore she can now have some rest. She was always proud of you, and I will always too. Whatever happens, we will always have each other. Love you xx _

After a while Isaac’s knees began to hurt, so he simply sat down, legs crossed, but still by the tombstone, staring at the grass, blanking his mind. He didn’t want to think. He didn't want to remember. He just wanted his mum and his brother back, and the closest he could get to that was to sit by their tomb, as the wind brushed away the leftover clouds and the cold morning sun shone over Beacon Hills. He had nothing better to do, in any case.

At one point he started shivering. His clothes, despite Scott’s best towels, were still wet, and he had been still for a long while. Isaac rubbed his eyes one last time and stood up. He kissed his fingers before placing them with all his care and love on the tombstone. Isaac shoved one hand in his pocket and with the other one pushed his bike, heading straight for the entrance without looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, well... I also have an autumn morning like Isaac's.


End file.
